


making wishes in the dark

by thorvaenn



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, Bad Parenting, Child Neglect, Dark Thor (Marvel), Fate & Destiny, Fix-It of Sorts, Kid Loki (Marvel), M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Reincarnation, Underage Drinking, Unhealthy Relationships, Violence, mentioned prostitution and drug use of a secondary character
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-05-03 16:31:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14573031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thorvaenn/pseuds/thorvaenn
Summary: Infinity War spoilers!The sun blazes down on him and his hair darkens with sweat that gathers along his hairline and then drops down his nose. As hours pass, the sun trails lazily beyond the horizon, leaving Thor spent and aching, every cell of his body screaming with the strain of trying to bring a god back to life.It's been over a decade since Thanos wiped out half the universe. Thor thinks his attempt to bring Loki back from the dead failed. He didn't read the fine print.Discontinued.





	1. Chapter 1

Later, somewhere beyond Wakanda's borders, feverish with grief, Thor kneels amidst long grass, Stormbreaker held in both hands. He's clutching the handle, knuckles white with the effort while fingers of his other hand skim over the flat surface of its head.

 

There is power in it that Mjolnir didn't have. He can feel the dark magic of the Bifrost thrumming just under the surface, inviting him to rise, to fly. To find a place in the universe that he can claim as his own and begin creating Asgard anew.

 

But there is no Asgard, for Asgard was people and the people are gone now.

 

Earth is as good a place for Thor as any. And yet the temptation remains and he closes his eyes, calling upon the power but not asking it for an _escape_ ; at least not for himself. He's not looking for the roar of Bifrost. He's looking for a whisper of hope, of a new beginning.

 

The sun blazes down on him and his hair darkens with sweat that gathers along his hairline and then drops down his nose. As hours pass, the sun trails lazily beyond the horizon, leaving Thor spent and aching, every cell of his body screaming with the strain of trying to bring a god back to life.

 

* * *

 

Steve Rogers intervenes three days later and Thor near well cleaves him in half for the interruption, a feral scream tearing hoarsely from his parched throat. Then he stumbles back, legs unable to support him after days of immobility, watching the horrified look in his friend's eyes.

 

 _You're not the only who lost everything_ , says a voice at the back of his mind. He rolls his shoulders, shrugging it off. That voice is full of reason and compassion. The rest of him is feeling neither reasonable nor compassionate.

 

He looks around for the first time in days. The grass around him is scorched, all the way to the tree-line.

 

“We need you,” Steve says and Thor breathes hard, chest heaving, unseeing out looking around the darkened clearing.

 

Nothing. There's nothing. _No one_.

 

* * *

 

Mere two months later, they're not telling him they need him anymore.

 

It's rather they are telling him what _he_ needs. They keep speaking, voices tense, words careful. Natasha has a hand on her gun, thinking he can't see it.

 

And hoping it would do her any good. It wouldn't.

 

Banner is not here. Thor's presence is not a good influence on the Hulk's attitude.

 

Thor's presence isn't a good influence on anything.

 

He needs rest. Needs to regroup. Visit some other planet maybe? That Vanaheim place, no? Alfheim? Doesn't he have friends there?

 

Thor smiles at them, sees Steve drop his gaze before he remembers himself. Like he can't bear to watch. Thor doesn't blame him; he can feel the strain in his cheeks. It's not a nice smile that he has on his face. But Steve goes back to staring him down, serious and confident. Hiding with bravado the fact that Thor could kill them all within minutes.

 

After a long moment of silence, he claps the captain on the shoulder with enough force to shatter a mere man's bones.

 

He feels no regret leaving. No real anger at being asked to.

 

“Farewell.”

 

* * *

 

_14 years later_

 

* * *

 

Thor tosses the wad of cash he earned today carelessly on the kitchen table once the door is shut and bolted behind him.

 

The last time someone tried to rob him, he snapped their neck and then burnt them to a crisp on the outskirts of the city, ashes blowing off to the desert. It reminded Thor of what happened all those years ago.

 

And they also broke his TV as they struggled, which pissed him off. He's been using the bolt lock ever since.

 

He grabs a bottle of bourbon from the fridge. It's not the right way to store it, but neither is pouring almost the entire thing into a stein and drinking it at the speed that a human would usually drink beer. It's the closest he can get to imitating having a refreshing tankard of mead on Asgard.

 

His turns his newish TV on and settles with his drink, taking a deep gulp of the coarse liquid. He browses the channels for a bit, avoiding the news at first, but as everything else proves unfruitful, he empties his stein with a grimace and heads for the fridge to refill it. Very well, then.

 

The ceiling fan is whirring away quietly, barely doing anything to get the hot air in the room moving. Thor pulls off his shirt and drapes it over the back of his armchair, unzipping his jeans for more comfort as he props his legs up. He runs his hand through his hair, pushing it back. It's nearly touching his shoulders now, he should get it cut. Even with the darker colour (never grew back quite the same after Sakaar. He blames the weak sun here.), people start to get that glint of recognition in their eyes when he lets it get too long.

 

He despises the hope in their expression when they do. They can't help it, they don't even think about it; if they did, they would remember that no man bringing thunder from the sky can do anything about their problems. They just remember the _Avengers_ and the god in their midst and jolt from their miserable lives for a second.

 

Then Thor glowers at them and they see him for what he is; a man in dirty jeans, bouncing at a night club or hustling in a casino.

 

Whatever comes along for the least effort and most money.

 

The news show the usual. The world is not a happy place. He doesn't need to be shown images of hunger or violence from all over the world, he sees it enough right where he is.

 

He must fall asleep then because when he wakes, the news reel is long gone, replaced by the mindlessness of infomercials. It's three in the morning.

 

And he had a dream.

 

He has closed himself off to those years ago, as soon as he left New York on that bleak morning when his former comrades let him know that he was no longer welcome. Not in those words, of course, but he had seen it coming even before that, in the disquiet in their gazes after he'd been particularly ruthless with an enemy.

 

“ _They're not enemies,”_ Steve Rogers had told him. _“They're just desperate people. We must stop them, but not...”_

 

And that was just the surface of it all.

 

Before, he didn't think he would have the power to really master his mind in sleep. Dreams were a normal part of his nights when he was young, later they came with the burden of kingship (he may not have been crowned but he was a son of Asgard and its servant long before) in the form of warning prophecies.

 

But now Thor wants no part in reliving images of his secret, mundane life on Midgard and he most certainly has no use for anything prophetic.

 

The realms failed him. _Fate_ failed him.

 

To Hel with it all.

 

Fumbling, he turns the TV off. It leaves him sitting in the dark, hot and sticky with sweat, the only sounds coming from the fan and from the highway nearby. His hand closes automatically around the stein and he downs the now disgustingly warm contents.

 

In his dream, he was sitting in Asgard's infirmary. He was not injured but waiting beyond a privacy curtain. In the typical dream-like fashion, he could not leave the stool he was sitting on, couldn't move. He could only stare at the white curtain as it flitted in non-existent breeze.

 

“Loki,” his dream self kept saying. “ _Loki_.”

 

Goosebumps rise over his skin despite the heat. The dream showed him nothing. He can't recall being frightened or sad and yet there was something impatient in it. A forgotten memory that clawed at him, begging to be remembered. Why the infirmary? Why was whatever was happening there hidden from his sight?

 

A car that splutters like it's about to give out right then and there drives right under Thor's window and then slows into a stop. He gets up, throwing the curtains wide and opening the window with hope that the air outside has cooled somewhat. He looks down at the parking lot that surrounds the apartment building where Thor lives. The car he heard was lucky to find a free spot among all the other chipped, cheap rides that are all the people who rent places here can afford.

 

Thor has one too. Walking took up too much of his time that could have been spent drinking. Or sleeping. And it makes him blend in better.

 

The street lights give off a dim, orange glow and the car has parked far enough that Thor only sees the vague shapes of two figures getting out. One slams the car door forcibly; it sounds like gunshot in the still air. The slighter, smaller figure is slower about it. The highest tones of a voice reach Thor's ears, not enough for him to make out the words, but the other one hurries to the trunk, pulling out bags.

 

Once they are both dragging along enough luggage to break a back, they start their slow trek towards the building and then closer to where Thor's place is.

 

He vaguely remembers someone on his hallway moving out, but it's impossible – and pointless – to keep track. These people might as well be moths to him and so he shuts the window and heads to his bedroom, closing the door behind himself to at least give himself some hope that the noise from the hallway won't disturb him.

 

The Norns have abandoned him and he has done the same to them in return, but before he falls back asleep, he prays that he won't be dreaming of his brother again.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the lovely feedback!!

The bourbon is long since burned from his system when he gets up just after seven in the morning, so he can't even blame hangover for his miserable mood. He didn't dream again, but his sleep was fitful as he waited for the confusing images to reappear. He heads to his tiny bathroom, showering under the weak, lukewarm spray that is all he can get in this dump of a place. But it does the job and he feels nearly refreshed as he searches for a decently clean t-shirt.

 

Boredom is his biggest foe. Most of his jobs only start in the evening; the whole damn city is nocturnal. So for the lack of anything else to do, itching in the enclosed space, he heads out. A trip to the store couldn't hurt.

 

His back is to the hallway when he locks behind himself. He hears something, a soft sound he can't place and doesn't really care about, but as he watches his own hand turn the key, an electric blue spark jumps from his fingers and sizzles against the worn metal. Snatching his hand back, he shakes it out.

 

This hasn't happened to him in years.

 

Surreptitiously looking up and down the hallway to see if the outburst was witnessed, he only glimpses the barest of movements two doors down, on wall on the opposite side to where his apartment is.

 

Shrugging off the uncomfortable feeling of being watched, he steps out into the morning sun. There is no view to speak of here, just the low line of apartment buildings same as his, warehouses and failing businesses, but the sky above is pale and muddy with sand from the desert.

 

Not for the first time, he daydreams of bringing a storm to wash it all away.

 

He used to do it from time to time, when the season was right, out in the desert. But even if storms, and the flash floods that accompanied them, were not unheard of in the Nevada desert, in the shadow of Charleston especially, a couple of days after his last bout he was walking past a newspaper stand when he saw wide-blown images of Steve Rogers and Natasha Romanov littering the front pages of every single local gossip magazine.

 

_Captain Gambler and Lady Luck?_ was the headline of the one he snatched. There was no real information in the article, but it was what was missing that gave Thor what he needed.

 

The Avengers were spotted there. Nobody knew why.

 

Which meant that they may have very well been there for Thor.

 

He buried Stormbreaker in the desert that night, driving his battered red pick up almost two hundred miles each way to find a perfectly secluded spot.

 

And he buried his power too, let the lightning sink into his bones and fall asleep there, awoken only that one time when he found himself holding the body of a burglar with a snapped neck.

 

And to be awoken again now, apparently, when he was being watched. He remembers the pair he saw moving in last night. It makes sense that they should be curious. The rest of his neighbors are used to the sight of Thor well enough. They know to leave him alone and he does the same for them.

 

He has a lucrative job that evening. Lucrative and easy. He's the bodyguard of a man who fancies himself an entrepreneur. He is all about appearances, which is why he hires Thor, for his size and his looks. There is usually another one, so that they can flank him properly and intimidate his to-be business partners. It always reminds Thor of home. The humans like to play at royalty at every opportunity they get.

 

He puts on his cheap suit, glancing at himself in the cracked mirror that hangs on the inner side of his closet door. Black jacket, white shirt, black tie. Hair combed back, secured at the nape.

 

Seven at night is a much livelier time for the hallway than seven in the morning.

 

A woman rushes out of the door – _the_ door _–_ yelling something behind her that Thor doesn't quite catch. Her hair is bottle blond and she has a red dress on; tight, short. Showing off her breasts in a very unambiguous way. She's hurries past Thor, flip flops clapping over the tile floor as she stuffs a pair of high heels into her purse.

 

She notices him at the last moment, pausing momentarily as she takes him in, looking him up and down before continuing down the hallway and into the parking lot.

 

Thor follows slowly, glancing over his shoulder, wondering who it was she left behind in the apartment.

 

There is another perk of this job. He can drink to his heart's content. The man he works for has a favorite club and he usually ends up in one of the VIP rooms with his guests, which leaves Thor and any potential partner for the night hanging out outside, bartenders having been signaled to serve them on the house. Thor has mastered the art of making rounds between several of them so that it doesn't become suspicious he drinks five times of what would land a mortal man in the hospital and merely gets tipsy.

 

He is in a much better mood when he's getting out of the car back home, tie and jacket taken off and draped over his arm. It's sweltering, the air completely still, stubbornly holding on to all the heat of the day.

 

Unlocking his door, it happens again. The spark. The itch at the back of his neck that tells him he's being watched.

 

He whirls around, spotting movement right where he expects it.

 

Time to meet the other new neighbor.

 

He strolls towards the door, then watches the frantic attempt to have it shut right in his face, but he's quick, quicker than the spying mortal inside could ever anticipate.

 

Leaning against the door with one open palm, he pushes it open easily.

 

The person inside jumps back to avoid the sudden swing on the door and then-

 

Then everything that Thor has killed in himself comes roaring back to life.

 

His vision whites out for a second and it's only a miracle that the lightning doesn't explode all around him instantly. He feels it gather under his skin, demanding to be let out as his heart stutters with something beyond shock, beyond panic.

 

Perhaps he has finally gone mad.

 

Yes, Thor, no longer the son of Odin, no longer the god of thunder, now only _Thor from around here_ , who drinks too much while feeling it too little and who makes petty cash bouncing or running unsavory errands, has finally lost it.

 

He's sure of that, because what's in front of him simply can't be reality.

 

He's _sure_ and yet his mouth opens, without his permission and he utters the one word he hasn't uttered in over fourteen years. “Loki?”

 

“You can't be here.”

 

They stare at each other and slowly, like he's dragging himself from a heavy sleep, Thor becomes aware of his surroundings. He's on the threshold of the apartment of the two people who he has seen moving in the previous night. The woman who was leaving for work earlier that even and... this child. This boy.

 

This child who is _Loki._

 

This child who is pressed against the opposite wall of the room, staring at Thor with wide, frightened green eyes.

 

Thor studies him, stubbornly. Heart shaped face, cheeks still a little too round to show off the sharpness of his cheekbones. A mop of black hair, tucked behind his ears. And the _eyes._

 

He's dressed in a ratty black t-shirt and washed out gray shorts. Nothing like the carefully chosen tunics and expensive leggings that Loki started to prefer as soon as he was left to dress himself in the mornings, but Thor is hardly recognizable in style himself so he discards it instantly.

 

And his voice...

 

Thor swallows thickly. “How?”

 

“You can't be here. Look, my mom is gonna be home soon so if you just...”

 

That is _Loki's_ voice. A little wobbly, like he's not used to it being broken yet, but unmistakable in tone all the same.

 

His mom?

 

“Loki, what...?”

 

The boy frowns, then blinks. His posture relaxes ever so slightly but only for a second, then his shoulders are hunching up to his ears again.

 

“So you live here?” Loki asks.

 

“Two doors down,” Thor answers automatically, eyes raking over Loki's face. “Do you know me?”

 

“We just moved in. My mom and I. She's supposed to come home in a minute,” Loki emphasizes again and Thor finally gets his bearings well enough to understand his transgression, to understand what the boy is suggesting. It's a daily occurrence for him to be considered dangerous, to be avoided, to have people reach into their pockets for phones – or guns.

 

“Yeah,” he dismisses it. “Do you _know me_ , Loki?”

 

“No, I don't know you, not low key, not high key. Just moved in, remember?”

 

Thor shakes his head. “What are you spying on me for then?”

 

That gets another sort of reaction; a deep flush staining Loki's cheeks. “I just wanted to see what the people here are like. I won't do it again. Just, please, go.”

 

He can't. The idea of turning around, of letting this, this _miracle, or_ whatever is happening, out of his sight feels impossible.

 

What if Loki isn't here in the morning?

 

Seeing his hesitation, Loki pushes himself away from the wall. “Okay, what's your name? Which one is your apartment?”

 

On Loki's approach, Thor takes half a step back. He can't remember ever giving even an inch when he and his brother were facing off, but now he does, a part of his mind frightened of what is happening.

 

“Shouldn't you know already?” he huffs, but Loki has already achieved his goal: Thor is out of the apartment and Loki jumps forward, slamming the door shut. But then there is a metallic rattle and the door opens again a sliver, this time secured by the tight length of a chain.

 

“You really can't be here right now,” Loki says, apologetic. “What's your name?”

 

Thor stares at the youthful face in front of him, waiting for a smirk, a wink, some sort of a hint that this is all just a game.

 

“Thor,” he says eventually. “My name is Thor.”

 

Loki's lips part in surprise, then close again. But there is no dawning recognition or – or anything really, other than a quick frown.

 

“Okay. Well, see you around.”

 

Thor shakes his head. “This is not possible.”

 

Loki laughs nervously, eyes darting to the side. “You're drunk. Bye now.”

 

The door shuts and Thor is left standing there, suddenly swaying on his feet, feeling near faint. That was _Loki_. It was, without a shadow of doubt, his brother, exactly as he was when he was a child.

 

He wants to bust through the door and- and touch him, grab him, shake answers out of him.

 

It was _Loki_.

 

He notices he has dropped his jacket, so he bends to pick it up and takes a hesitant step back, then another towards his apartment. Then there's the sound of tired footsteps smacking against the floor and just as Thor stumbles to his door, the woman from that evening passes by, glaring at him.

 

The woman. _Mom_ , Loki said. Her make-up is smudged and the straps of her dressed crooked. Her hair is barely staying tied in a careless updo.

 

He stares at her as she unlocks the door and she keeps glancing back at him with growing anger – or anger that is meant to cover fear, more likely.

 

“Why the fuck aren't you in bed?” he hears before the door slams shut.

 

Thor's chest is tight, he wants to get out, _fly,_ go somewhere where the air is fresh and cool so that he might clear his head and fill his lungs until his ribs don't feel like a steel cage closing around him.

 

But he won't. He can't. Because Loki is here, separated from Thor merely by a couple of walls that are about as substantial to Thor as sheets of paper.

 

And so he walks into his own apartment, standing there in the dark for long minutes, before going through the motions of his nightly routine. Drink. Try to sleep.

 

Loki is close.

 

And Thor will seek him out again soon.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

What Thor doesn't expect is that Loki seeks _him_ out.

 

He's busying himself by wearing out the flooring of his living room by incessant pacing. His drapes are shut against the heat of the day. He needs darkness. He needs to think.

 

His life has, in many ways, become the easiest it's ever been. Or simplest, at least. Not even his youth, the certainty that it was his right, his _fate_ to take the throne of Asgard, felt as straight-forward as his existence now.

 

Lay low. Talk to no one. Drink. Sleep without dreams.

 

It was simple and easy. He doesn't have the fears that mortals do. He doesn't fear hunger or lack of shelter. He could sit out in the desert or up in the mountains without food or a thread on his back for weeks, months, and come out none the worse for it. And if he were to desire money and luxury, he could do gain those too. But he's not looking for a life of a soldier of fortune, he prefers the quieter way.

 

Or he has, until now.

 

A knock on his door. He stills, mid-step, staring at the battered expanse of cheap wood. And then, in two quick strides, he's there, throwing the door open.

 

And it's him. It's Loki. It was no confusion of last night, no hallucination caused by weak midgardian liquor. This is Loki, in a blue shirt with some musician on it, in the same gray shorts as before, illuminated by harsh mid-day sun that streams from the windows on each side of the hallway. He's as real as he was last night.

 

And he's holding something up to Thor, eyes a little shifty but hand steady.

 

“You dropped this last night.”

 

Thor takes it without thinking, eyes not leaving Loki's face at first. It's only when they stand, unmoving, for a little while that Thor looks down, thumb running over something smooth.

 

It's his tie; he wore one to the job.

 

“Right,” he says. “Thank you.”

 

He knows he frightened Loki last night. Entered his apartment uninvited, said things Loki clearly couldn't understand yet.

 

And yet he's here, looking up at Thor curiously, not leaving even though he has already handed Thor's forgotten tie over.

 

Thor steps to the side, gesturing. “Would you like to come in?”

 

Loki hesitates, looking inside, then over his shoulder.

 

“I have to make lunch. My mom will be up soon.”

 

Thor nods. It's a struggle not to grab Loki bodily and drag him closer. Never let him leave again.

 

“But...” Loki goes on, eyes wide with something that might be nerves or might be excitement. “She works, every night. I could come by around eight.”

 

There's no explanation as to the purpose of that visit which makes Thor hopeful. It might very well mean that Loki plans to reveal himself, to explain. Why in that case he still needs to play lip-service to having a mortal mother – and cooking for her – Thor does not know, but contents himself, for the moment, with waiting for his brother to show his hand and make sense of this.

 

“I'll be here,” he tells Loki. And then, on a whim, perhaps something in Loki's plain visage inspiring him. “Is there anything you require?”

 

Loki grins and the expression is so familiar that it feels like an arrow to the heart. “Beer?”

 

Thor raises his eyebrows. Beer has never been Loki's drink of choice. “Are you sure it's going to be to your taste?”

 

Loki cocks his head at him, smile falling a little bit. “Why, are you offering something else?”

 

“Anything you'd like.”

 

That erases Loki's smile completely. Thor grapples to understand where he has gone wrong.

 

“Beer's good. If you don't mind.”

 

Thor nods, choosing not to say anything else lest Loki changes his mind.

 

* * *

 

The trip to the store – necessary as he doesn't keep any beer around, seeing as it might as well be piss water to him – helps to make the agonizing wait a little shorter. He picks up two six packs of beer and several bottles of proper drink for himself.

 

Waiting his turn in line, his eyes rake over the shelves filled with sweets. He has never taken a liking to these treats, midgardian sugar and cocoa failing to impress him, but Loki did have a sweet tooth as a child. Perhaps it is still the case, now that he appears so much younger. He takes several handfuls and adds it to his purchase.

 

The cashier, an old man who lacks some teeth and reminds Thor of a walnut, knows him. The bottles of booze don't perturbe him, but the chocolate bars make him squint watery eyes at Thor.

 

“Got your kid for the weekend?”

 

Thor blinks at him. “Something like that.”

 

The man's walnutty forehead creases in a frown.

 

“My brother,” Thor adds and the frown eases for most part.

 

Back home, he stacks the treats onto the counter and fills his fridge with bottles.

 

Then there is nothing to do but wait.

 

He listens to all the noise out in the hallway, trying to pinpoint the clap of flip flops that would tell him Loki's “mother” is leaving, but before he can be sure he has picked her footsteps out among the others, there is a quick knock and he goes to open the door.

 

Loki glances up and down the hallway, momentarily empty and slips in.

 

He takes a look around, but there is not much to see – one open room that serves as a kitchen, with its battered cabinets and breakfast peninsula that separates the space a bit, and as a living room at once. Thor has a couch and a deep, comfortable armchair; the couch faces the TV. The door to Thor's bedroom is closed and Loki doesn't appear to be interested in it.

 

“How long have you lived here?” Loki asks.

 

“Several years.”

 

Loki shakes his head, perching on the armrest of the chair. “Do you have the beer?”

 

The tension that had its grip on Thor since last night is easing now that Loki is safely in here with him and smiles as he goes to the fridge and hands Loki the decently chilled bottle.

 

Loki opens it and Thor stares as he takes a tentative sip, then grimaces.

 

“Thanks,” Loki coughs.

 

Thor waits. Loki sips some more, then squirms.

 

“You're kinda staring at me.”

 

That's amusing. “Can you blame me? I'm waiting for what you will say.”

 

“Yeah, you're weird...”

 

Ah, Loki means to drag the game out. Thor doesn't particularly mind. He fetches his own drink, pouring bourbon into a tall glass and taking a deep gulp as he sits on the couch, leg tucked underneath him so that he can face Loki fully.

 

“You drink it like that?” Loki points at the glass in Thor's hand.

 

“I have a sturdy constitution. It takes a bit to affect me.”

 

“Yeah...” Loki's eyes rake over Thor's exposed arms. He's only in jeans and a tank top. “I guess you do.”

 

“Thank you for bringing me my tie,” Thor says, deciding to play along with what Loki wants.

 

“I would have gotten in trouble with my mom if she found it,” Loki replies, shrugging nonchalantly, an effect that is instantly ruined by the expectant, searching look he gives Thor over the top of his bottle.

 

“Why?” Thor indulges him. There's something sweet about talking to Loki like this, like nothing is happening. Like nothing _has_ happened.

 

“Why?” Loki laughs. “Do I look like I wear ties? She would think I stole it. Or worse.”

 

“What's worse?” Thor frowns, caught off guard by the way Loki speaks of what happens in this odd play at life of his.

 

“That I actually let you in.”

 

That pauses he takes a deep swallow of his warming drink.

 

“I didn't mean to frighten you.”

 

Loki rolls his shoulders like he's shrugging something off. He shuffles backwards on the armrest until he's straddling it, one leg straight, heel tapping against the floor, the other bent so he foot rests against the seat.

 

“I wasn't _frightened._ ” Loki repeats the word mockingly. “But I still don't get what you... what you're about.”

 

“Loki, we're-”

 

“See, that's that-” Loki interrupts him, pointing a finger at him. The beer bottle hangs from his other hand, near empty. Thor realizes he's flushes already, eyes bright. Surely one measly beer didn't do that to him? “What's this low key business?”

 

“Don't you know your name?” Thor splutters.

 

“My _name_? My name, which you by the way didn't ask, is Lucas.”

 

Thor startles, then laughs. And laughs, leaning forward, head hanging as his shoulders twitch with desperate amusement.

 

“What's so fucking funny?” Loki hisses at him. “Stop that. What's so funny?”

 

Thor shakes his head, wiping the tears of mirth away from his eyes, plopping his glass on the coffee table and standing up.

 

One step and he's right in Loki's space, cupping the back of his neck, tilting his head up so that they are looking eye to eye.

 

“Your name is _Loki,_ ” Thor says. “And you are my brother.”

 

Loki's mouth drops open and for a second Thor swears he sees recognition flash behind those green eyes. But then Loki laughs, nervous, and presses his bottle into Thor's chest, trying to push him away. “This is not some stupid religion thing, is it? Can I have another beer?”

 

Thor doesn't budge an inch, his other hand coming up to stroke Loki's cheek. This up close, there's not a sliver of doubt remaining that this is Loki. Each speckle of gold in his green eyes is as familiar to Thor as the constellations above Asgard. Both lost, neither forgotten.

 

“I'll wait,” he says. Loki shudders in his grasp. “And you can have another beer.”

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short one.

Pacified by the offer, Loki stays and Thor lets it be for the moment, as promised. Loki talks about inconsequential things, a bit about schools, a bit about homeschooling, about his favorite books. Thor settles on the couch and listens.

 

Loki starts hiccuping when he finishes his second beer and Thor is forced to evaluate what, if not who, he actually is.

 

He _is_ Loki, but he is also undeniably a human boy. Some time later, when there is a lul in Loki’s chatter and he sprawls on the armchair, casual and a bit sleepy, Thor tries to learn more.

 

“Where did you live before you moved here?” Thor asks. Loki is so curiously relaxed around him and while it’s partly doing of the alcohol affecting his young body, there is something else to it too, perhaps carelessness also born of youth.

 

“L.A.,” Loki shrugs. “And before that, Florida. And before that Georgia or something, I was too little to remember.”

 

Thor considers him for a long while. This time, there is no accusation that he’s staring; Loki seems content to just lounge and sip on his beer.

 

“How old are you?”

 

That brings some awareness into Loki’s neutral expression, along with some tension. “What, are you having second thoughts about giving me beer? That’s like, three bottles too late.”

 

Thor shakes his head. Loki is perhaps slurring a bit, tongue heavier than it should be, but it doesn’t concern Thor at the slightest.

 

“Were you born, when it happened?”

 

Loki grimaces. “You mean the-” he waves his fingers vaguely “- people disappearing. Around that time, yeah. My mom says that’s how my dad died but if you ask me...”

 

Thor prompts him to continue with a quiet ‘hm?’.

 

“It’s as good excuse as any. If she even knew who he was.”

 

Thor had seen – and put together, in an abstract, detached way – her habits and appearance, so this should be of no surprise, but he feels his hand tightening around his stein anyway and he forces himself to loosen it, having broken many exactly in this manner. Loki stares off at nothing, face blank except for a little crease between his brows, mouth a bit slack with the drink.

 

Thor doesn’t remember the date of the event. He’s accustomed to Midgardian calendar now, of course, as he needs it to keep track of his jobs and paying rent, but he wasn’t tracking the time before and he’d only just arrived mid-battle anyway. But it would be easy to find.

 

“When is your birthday?”

 

Loki shakes himself from the way he drifted off and laughs, placing his empty bottle on Thor’s side table, getting up.

 

“Why, do you want to get me a present?”

 

He comes to stand right in front of Thor. Thor’s couch is low enough that like this, Loki stands taller than Thor sits and Thor looks up at him.

 

“Give me a sip of that?” Loki asks, pointing at the bourbon. Thor pulls his hand back.

 

“Tell me your birth date first.”

 

“May nineteenth. Happy?”

 

Thor nods. May. Late spring, that fits, doesn’t it? He will look it up as soon as he’s able. Meanwhile, Loki paws to grab the large stein from Thor’s hand and takes a clumsy gulp.

 

“Whoa-” Thor warns, but Loki is already pushing the stein back into Thor’s hands and covering his mouth, gagging.

 

Quickly putting it away, Thor stands up and picks Loki up, taking the few strides into his tiny bathroom and helps Loki bend over the toilet, holding his hair back as he spits and gags before finally giving one large heave and casting out all the beer.

 

Bemused, Thor lets him get on with it, stroking through his curls, remembering their untamed texture just like this when Loki was young, before he insisted on cutting his hair short and slicking it back.

 

“Sorry,” Loki mumbles when he’s done. He sounds utterly miserable. “‘M sorry, oh god...”

 

Thor reaches over him to flush and guides him over to the sink, filling up the slightly crusty glass he keeps there with tap water. “It’s fine. Rinse.”

 

Loki does, sloshing the water in his mouth and spitting it out. Even in the dingy, weak bathroom light Thor can see that he’s pale, going on green, with two ruddy spots of blush on the tops of his cheeks.

 

“I suppose you should sleep,” he says, a little hesitantly. He doesn’t want to part with Loki again, but if anything, this showed him that if his brother is here, he’s buried deep down. It will take time and care to bring him out. And meanwhile this shadow of him - or the vessel? His younger self? Thor doesn’t quite know - needs to be taken care of.

 

He accompanies Loki to his apartment. There are two bedrooms there, unlike in Thor’s where he only has the one, and Loki points to the one on the left and Thor opens the door, hand at the small of Loki’s back. The room is plain with only a couple of mismatched posters hanging on the walls serving as decoration.

 

Loki sits heavily down on the bed and Thor kneels down before him to take off his sneakers when all Loki does is stare at his knees, swaying back and forth a little bit.

 

He’s startled to feel Loki’s hands in his hair, pulling off the band he uses to tie it back.

 

“You should wear it like this,” Loki slurs at him and Thor shakes his head, exasperated, gently tipping Loki to lie down on his side, tugging the covers from underneath him and tucking him in. “Reminds me of...”

 

Thor freezes.

 

“What does it remind you of?” he asks. “Loki?”

 

But he’s already asleep, deep puffs of breath passing past his parted lips. Thor waits for a while, confusion swirling in his head before a noise from the hallway rouses him and he realizes it’s late and he definitely shouldn’t be caught here.

 

Without thinking, he bends down and presses a kiss to Loki’s heated cheek.

 

“We will make this right, brother,” he promises with a whisper and leaves, switching the lights off and closing the door behind himself quietly.

 

Back in his own apartment, he looks around, entirely lost. The familiar room looks foreign now, with empty beer bottles that Loki scattered around carelessly, the throw on Thor’s armchair all messed up by Loki’s feet, the forgotten sweets Thor didn’t get a chance to offer him stacked on the counter.

 

Something settles in Thor’s stomach. Impatience. A drive in him that has been lost. He was content, if not happy, with his stasis in the past years. This place served him well, even ugly and cheap as it is, but now that it’s been touched by Loki’s presence, he can only see its inadequacies once he’s left.

 

He thumbs at his lips, remembering the feeling of Loki’s soft cheek beneath them. Tugs at the loose strands of hair, remembering Loki pulling it from the tie. He, too, feels full of inadequacies now that Loki has touched him.

 

He has nothing of their lives together, even Stormbreaker is hundreds of miles away, hidden in the desert. Nothing to show him, either as proof that what Loki now considers a stranger’s crazed ramblings is the truth, or as a tool to return his memory.

 

Although… Thor looks down at his hand, letting a spark jump over his knuckles before vanishing it. He has this. He has _himself_.

 

And he hopes it will be enough.

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you <3

It was a sleepless night filled with thinking and – ridiculously – cleaning.

 

Thor's newly found restlessness extended even to the mundane.

 

Around midday, he's on the couch with his feet up, slightly sleepy but unable to get any rest during the day like this, not with the sun persistently slipping in through every gap along the curtains.

 

It's not the first time he thinks he would be better off moving somewhere cold and dark. Somewhere isolated, maybe. A remote dwelling just for him where he could go weeks, months without seeing anyone.

 

And yet he has always stayed here, in this dusty, flat city where people come to lose their money and get blind drunk and fuck their way through all who will let them.

 

Now the thought of having moved away chills him to the bone. What if he had packed up; a year, a week ago? What if he had left and Loki would move in and when he would spy from the doorway, there would be nothing for him to see?

 

Perhaps the Norns... he stops himself. No, he is done with them, as they are with him.

 

There's a knock on the door, dragging Thor from his thoughts. He heaves himself up from the couch, wincing at the creaking sound it makes. He fortified it with some steel rods when he got it, but it's beginning to give out all the same. It's a constant problem with the furniture here.

 

He opens the door, shocked to find Loki in the hallway.

 

He's visibly hungover, his hair sticking in all directions, eyes bloodshot, lips puffy.

 

“Hello,” Thor says, when Loki just stands there, pinching his palm with his fingers.

 

“Look, I guess I'm the last person you wanna see now, but...”

 

“Hey,” Thor interrupts, gently, stepping to the side and gesturing Loki in. “That's not true.”

 

Loki is significantly more hesitant than he was the day before, but he steps past the threshold anyway and Thor closes the door behind him, something in his chest settling peacefully.

 

“I'm sorry about-” Loki cringes, putting his face in his hands. Thor squeezes his shoulder, fingers itching to run all over him, make sure that he's real. That he's alright.

 

“Don't be sorry, I should not have given you my drink, it was too much.”

 

Loki peeks up at him from the hands that are still covering his face. “It's gross and embarrassing, but I...”

 

“Hm?” Thor smiles.

 

“My mom didn't come home last night.”

 

Thor waits a beat for Loki to continue. When he doesn't, merely staring anxiously at Thor, he shakes himself.

 

“Oh. And she doesn't usually do that?”

 

Loki shrugs his hand off and goes to plop himself on Thor's couch. It creaks.

 

“I mean, she comes  _ late,  _ obviously,” Loki explains. “Or early. Even at like six or seven in the morning. But it's after noon now and... I don't have a phone because I broke my last one and we didn't have-”

 

It rushes out of him as Thor listens carefully.

 

“And I don't know, I guess it's fine but I thought... I don't know, I shouldn't have come here-”

 

“Hey, hey, hey,” Thor soothes, dropping to a crouch in front of Loki. “Of course you can come here. Did you eat? You must not feel too well.”

 

Loki presses his lips together and looks away, cheeks coloring. Thor doesn't quite know how to explain to him that him casting out his drink in front of Thor means absolutely nothing, so he doesn't try, instead taking note that Loki hasn't actually refused his offer of food.

 

Thor eats out a lot, in greasy fast foods and hole in the wall restaurants that serve food from all over Midgard, but he always keeps eggs around to fill in when he's left unsatisfied, which happens often. It's not just the weak alcohol that doesn't suit his physiology here.

 

Patting Loki's knee, he gets up and pulls the carton of eggs out of the fridge, fetching a pan and turning the stove on. Or rather, trying to. The gas hisses, but it won't catch, the igniter useless and so, angling his body so Loki wouldn't see, Thor sparks the flame with his finger.

 

“What was that?” Loki asks, startled. Thor nearly jumps – he's no longer over on the couch, but standing right behind Thor. He hasn't heard him.

 

“The stove always gives me trouble. Don't worry.”

 

Loki looks at him dubiously and then hops up on a cleared part of the counter, right between the sink and Thor's bread basket, which is now filled with the sweets he had bought for Loki.

 

Loki rummages through them as Thor cracks four eggs into the pan.

 

“You don't look like a snickers and kitkat guy to me.”

 

“I'm not,” Thor says, grabbing a spatula. “They're for you.”

 

“You got me candy?” Loki sounds amused. “You don’t worry too much about how that might look, do you.”

 

Thor stirs the eggs, carefully watching as they start to cook. “The cashier was surprised. I told him my little brother was visiting.”

 

It only takes another minute before the eggs are done and Thor scrapes them onto a plate and grinds some salt and pepper on top.

 

“I don’t have any toast,” he explains, handing the plate and a fork to Loki.

 

Loki jumps down from the counter and takes it from him. “As long as you have candy for your little brother though.”

 

He doesn’t meet Thor’s eyes and walks off to sit down on the couch and eat, shoveling the eggs into his mouth with little finesse. 

 

It’s interesting, to be on the receiving end of Loki’s cold shoulder again. He smiles as Loki’s cheeks bulge with his chewing, eyes downcast and avoiding Thor. He’s not entirely sure where he went wrong with the chocolates, but he must have since he was already scolded for it by two people.

 

“Would you like to try calling your mother from my phone?”

 

Loki swallows and nods. “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

 

Thor goes to fish his phone from the pocket of the jeans he’s just thrown into his laundry basket. The battery is running a bit low, as he prefers to use it as little as possible and sometimes forgets about it, so he gives is a little nudge and the battery fills into fullness again.

 

“What  _ is  _ that?” Loki demands. “Do you have some wires here? I just felt it again-”

 

“What did you feel?” Thor interrupts him. This is the second time today he has let a trickle of his powers out in front of Loki and he can  _ feel  _ it?

 

Loki bites his lip. “Heard it, I mean. I guess. Crackling. Never mind, can I call her now?”

 

Thor hands the phone over and Loki taps at the screen rapidly, then presses it to his ear. Thor can easily hear the monotone beeps as it rings. And rings. After a while, Loki, face pinched, cancels the call.

 

“Try again?” Thor suggests gently.

 

The ringing in the silent room is agonizing, more so as Thor has a clear view of Loki’s face and all the expressions he can’t seem to quite contain. He seems to oscillate between angry and scared, but on the third try, the line gurgles and a tired “Hello?” comes through the speaker.

 

Loki angles himself away from Thor, shoulders hunching, taking an aborted step away, but if his goal is to stop Thor from hearing what’s being said on the other, he’s out of luck, Thor’s hearing is good enough to pick it up.

 

“Mom, it’s me.”

 

“What? Where are you calling from?”

 

“I, um, I borrowed a phone. From a neighbor. Where are you?”

 

“Don’t you worry about that. You got food? I left some money on fridge, get something yeah?”

 

Not even the distortion of the call can cover up how heavy her tongue is, the slowness and apparent effort she’s putting into the words. Thor’s discomfort grows.

 

“But-”

 

“Bye honey… love you...”

 

The line disconnects. After a couple of seconds of silence, Thor reaches out to put his hand on Loki’s shoulder, only to have it shaken off violently. A little stung, he pulls back, but then Loki is turning and, blind with tears, walking right into Thor, a sob escaping against his chest.

 

Wrapping his arms around Loki and hugging him tight feels like the only right and natural thing he has done in over a decade and Thor holds on, letting him cry it out, one hand stroking down his back, another tangling in Loki’s hair to smooth it away from his tear-stricken face.

 

Loki disentangles himself after a couple of minutes, wiping his face with his sleeve. “Jesus. Now you really must be sick of me… I’m sorry, I’ll go-”

 

_ No _ .

 

“Let me at least buy you proper food,” Thor says. “And then you can try calling her again. Perhaps she will be… better rested.”

 

Loki laughs humorlessly. “Better rested. Yeah. Whatever.”

 

Thor waits, a bit lost. This frustrates him on a deeply unsettling level, because there is a voice in his mind that reminds him Loki needs no mother - and if he does need one, it would be someone like Frigga - he has  _ Thor _ already. They are reunited. But instead of working on ways to bring Loki’s essence back, to make him aware of who he is, they are chasing after a parent who abandons him for booze and drugs.

 

But he knows Loki well enough to realize voicing any of that, much less acting on it, would not be welcome. Not yet. Loki has always been stubborn and if so far he wants to hold on to this sham of a life, Thor will wait. But the need in his chest doesn’t want to be denied either. He needs Loki to be close.

 

Loki rubs at his eyes. “Can you drive me to the store? She said she left me some money.”

 

Thor knows he still has a decent amount of cash from the last couple of jobs. “Of course. And I can pay.”

 

Loki hesitates. “I’m going to shower first. Can you meet me in twenty minutes?”

 

Thor nods, but he merely waits for Loki to enter his apartment before quickly snatching a hoodie and his car keys, thumbing through his cash to see how much he has, and then he goes out onto the hallway, waiting there, well aware of Loki’s mercurial nature. He doesn’t want him to slip out, perhaps on a misguided quest to search for his mother.

 

But more or less after the promised twenty minutes, Loki appears, hair wet and combed back, wearing a clean looking shirt.

 

Thor has to remind himself to breathe. His brother. His beautiful brother.

 

“Ready to go?” he asks when Loki looks at him expectantly.

 

“Yeah.”

 

Loki laughs a little breathlessly when he climbs into the cabin of Thor’s pick up truck. “Somehow your truck looks exactly like I would imagine it to.”

 

Thor smiles. The car is red. Is it because Loki remembers Thor’s red cape? He would like to think so. He would like to experience Loki remembering things piece by piece, realizing how well they know each other, how close they were.

 

When Thor backs out of his parking spot and starts driving, the truck huffing, its roar deep, Loki knocks his knees together in something like excitement. The motion catches Thor’s eye. Loki is still wearing his shorts, knees and calves bare, skinny but more tan than Thor ever saw him. Then Loki tugs on the short legs to cover up where they’ve ridden up to show a bit of his thighs and Thor puts his eyes on the road again.

 

The drive to the grocery store, a cheap one that Thor prefers, isn’t long. If Loki’s mood lifted on the way, once they actually enter the store, he grows nearly sullen again, uncertain. Thor grabs a shopping cart and nods at Loki to follow.

 

Five minutes later, they stop at a random aisle and Thor has to admit that they’re just pointlessly wandering about. Loki isn’t picking up any items and Thor doesn’t know which, if any, to suggest.

 

“Come now,” he tells Loki quietly, not wanting to draw attention to them. “We’re here to shop, so shop.”

 

“I just...” Loki sighs, then stuffs his hand into his pocket, bringing something out and showing it to Thor. It’s a ten dollar bill. “This is all that she left. So I don’t know, let’s go to the frozen dinners or something.”

 

He can’t really keep his voice down after that. “I told you I would pay. You will not go hungry.”

 

“Shh,” Loki shushes him, grabbing the cart alongside Thor and nudging him out of the aisle. Thor sees an old woman glaring at them from around the canned peas. “Okay, fine.”

 

Finally, Loki makes to throw some things into the cart. Thor doesn’t pay much attention to what it is, only satisfied that Loki seems to know what he’s doing and that the cart is filling up.

 

Being surrounded by all the over-processed midgardian food makes him long for home. Even now there is certain hollowness in his stomach that never quite goes away no matter how much food he eats, it’s just not enough. It would be better elsewhere in space, he knows. Not quite like Asgard, but certainly better than here.

 

Eyes trailing over Loki’s thin legs, he considers that the idea might not be completely preposterous. With Stormbreaker, he can go anywhere. And if Loki were to be with him…

 

“Thor?” Loki has his eyebrows raised at him, a bit unimpressed and Thor clears his throat, realizing he has gone deep into his thoughts. “I’m done. Are you getting something?”

 

Preferring to buy alcohol at the small store near the apartment building, Thor shakes his head no and they check out. Loki starts fidgeting when it’s nearly time to pay, like he expects Thor to change his mind. Unable to comfort him in front of the cashier, Thor tries to at least smile at him to calm his fears.

 

Shopping loaded into the truck, they head back and Thor takes his phone out, handing it to Loki. “Want to try again?”

 

Loki takes the phone, but does nothing, placing it in his lap. “Not from the car. I don’t- She would be mad if she knew I went somewhere with you. I don’t even know how I’m going to explain all the food.”

 

“Do you eat a lot?” Thor asks, mind still partially at his musings about traveling the realms, finding a more suitable environment. He wants to know if Loki is already showing sign of being unsatisfied as well.

 

Instead, he bristles.

 

“We don’t go hungry, you know. Not- not usually. She does her best,” Loki spits, crossing his arms and turning towards the window.

 

“I merely meant if the food is good enough for you. Filling. If you don’t sometimes feel like something is missing.”

 

“You wanna know if the boxed mac and cheese feeds my soul as well as my stomach? Is this the same crap like when you called me brother? Some hippie stuff?”

 

Thor forces himself to loosen his grip on the steering wheel. It’s an instinctual reaction to meet Loki’s anger with his own, but he shouldn’t lose control now. It’s not Loki’s fault. He’s simply lost.

 

“Something like that,” he says briefly and next to him, Loki seems to deflate.

 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs after a while. Thor turns to him in surprise. “You just bought me all this stuff and I… I don’t know, I’m just scared for my mom.”

 

He sounds near tears and Thor hurries to park as they’ve arrived, then he squeezes Loki’s shoulder again, itching for another embrace. 

 

“Let’s get this all in,” he tells Loki, pointing at the groceries with his chin. “And then we can talk. Call your mother again, perhaps. Make a plan.”

 

Loki nods, sniffing a little, but otherwise tearless. 

 

Thor grabs all the bags and heads inside, aiming for Loki’s apartment.

 

“Can we...” Loki says, a couple of paces behind Thor. He seems torn and Thor waits for him to decide what he means to say. “Can we put the stuff to your place? And cook there? I really… if she comes home now and sees all that… I really don’t want to.”

 

Thor agrees, primal satisfaction putting a smile on his face when Loki helpfully closes the door behind him, Thor’s hands filled with the bags as they are. His fridge is acceptably clean and his cupboards almost empty and so it’s easy work to put everything away, sans for a couple of ingredients that Loki promises are needed for his best pasta dish. Thor helps him with the stove, only half heartedly covering what he’s doing as he pokes his finger into the burner, and Loki sucks in a breath audibly. Then he’s quiet - until he isn’t and he starts asking what channels Thor gets on his TV.

 

They don’t end up trying to call Loki’s mother again that day. 

**Author's Note:**

> **Discontinued.**


End file.
